


The Woods Are... Shifty

by VenomQuill



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Relativity Falls, Gen, Inverted Relativity Falls, Shapeshifter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-24 23:41:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21346693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VenomQuill/pseuds/VenomQuill
Summary: The Pines go to the Gravity Falls Swap Meet (Where Paring Lots Meets Garbage Dumps) and Stanford buys a weird egg from a witch. After bringing it home, Stanford and Fiddleford decide to check it out. What would they find but an alien creature...!
Kudos: 11





	The Woods Are... Shifty

**Author's Note:**

> Find it on dA: http://fav.me/ddjwy6i

Sunlight glimmered, deep and inviting, through the upstairs window and pooled over the darkening room. Stanley lay upside down on his bed, his feet touching the wall and his head resting on the ground. He concentrated on the paddleball in his hand.

Fiddleford sat at one of two chairs in front of their small desk. Stanford sat by him, careful to stay under the light. Books, papers, and everything else had been pushed back in untidy stacks. A heat lamp shed its light and warmth over the home-made incubator. A basket lined with soft fur and filled with meticulously plucked feathers, hay, cotton fibers, and all other types of soft plants sat on the desk. In the very center, big enough to hold Stanford’s and Fiddleford’s fists, was a baby blue egg. Its shell was smooth, pristine, and uniform with only one color and one smooth texture. Aside from its oblong structure and relatively medium weight, it could have been a perfectly spherical metal orb airbrushed blue and they wouldn’t have been the wiser.

“So,” Stanley broke the half-hour long silence. “What’s going to come out of that egg?”

“I don’t know,” Stanford answered. “It doesn’t look like any normal creature egg. It was a bit dusty and cool when we got it, so it has to have been staying stale for quite a while.”

“What’s it look like on the inside or whatever?” Stanley prompted, not looking away from his paddleball.

“Different every time we look,” Stanford answered.

Fiddleford picked up a flashlight. “Wouldja like ta check again?”

Stanford nodded. “Yes. It’s weird how this little thing develops. Here! You hold the flashlight.” He gently slid his fingers underneath of the egg and held it up. Fiddleford drew the curtains, turned off the heat lamp, and then turned on the flashlight. They pressed it to the side of the shell and gasped.

Stanley rolled his eyes and stopped his paddle-ball. “What? Did it twitch or something?”

“It got bigger!” Stanford breathed, his eyes round. Fiddleford nodded. Stanley stood up and, after a slight head rush, inspected it. He pulled up a camera and started recording.

At first, it was difficult seeing anything. It was just an amber oval with a few connected, yellow bumps along one side. Darker orange spider webs spread along inside of the shell and over the creature. It was big, almost as big as the shell. Fiddleford moved the light. Six tiny little bumps popped up over its sausage-shaped body, all facing in as the creature was curled up in a fetal position. One end narrowed a bit to fall into a wide, thick-rimmed circle with four little spikes growing out of it. Large, round eyes hidden under eyelids popped out of the skin just above the little circle. Currently, it’s “muzzle” faced one of the only sections of light amber left.

Stanley tipped his head. “Why is it lookin’ like that?”

Fiddleford didn’t look up. “Ah don’t know what this thing is, but if it’s anythin’ like a chicken, Ah reckon in its gettin’ ready to hatch.”

Stanford grinned. “We’ll finally know what it is! Okay, let’s give him some breathing room again.” He gently set the thing down in the homemade bed. Fiddleford turned off the light, opened the curtains, and turned on the heating lamp. Stanford immediately took out his notebook and scribbled something down.

Stanley stood back. “So, if it’s like a chicken, why is it in a basket and not with a chicken or somethin’? Don’t they have egg machines that warm ’em?”

Stanford mumbled something. Fiddleford piped up, “Normal incubators are too small, ya see. This egg has ta be a good two or so times the size of an average chicken egg. An’ we don’t know its natural incubation period or how it incubates. Usin’ a chicken incubator would be more difficult to study. B’sides, Ford wanted to make the incubator himself and told me to keep my technology away from it. Even though I could easily spruce up this little basket and, without compromisin’ any of the elements in the beddin’ material, could easily make a specialized incubator.”

“Nope,” Stanford denied and lifted his head. “You are not putting my egg in an incubator made from scraps you found at the junk yard.”

Fiddleford gasped and then put his hands on his hips. “Yeah? Where am I supposed to find better parts that aren’t a part of anythin’ else?”

“Not the junkyard, if you’re trying to make an incubator. This egg is unlike anything we’ve ever seen!” Stanford huffed. “I’m not compromising the egg’s safety to spare your feelings, Fiddleford.”

“Now, Stanford, _really!_ Ya spent how many hours plucking leaves for this?” Fiddleford gestured to the incubator. “Meanwhile, a good few herbs and _maybe_ half the day on my part, an’ we wouldn’t’ve needed a flashlight and headlamp and special accommodations fer a _wicker basket._”

Stanford crossed his arms. “I spent hours finding these ingredients because they’re the best for it! I needed to balance out comfort with stability, ventilation, insulation, density, and the structure. I also needed to make it so where I could replace special herbs that the egg might like. The feathers? I went through live bird nests and to Farmer Sprout to get the good feathers. I’ll have you know that the wicker basket was not only a good shape for it, but it’s very good for messing with the ingredients in the nest. It also looks quite nice _and_ it’s not heavy.”

Fiddleford rolled his eyes with a scoff. “Please. I could make an incubator that was lightweight, could control its density, insulation, change ventilation to different places at will, could have places to change out bedding, and look good in the process. You’re just too proud to admit it!”

“I’m not _proud._ I’m _practical._ I already spent the time on it,” Stanford pointed out. “Besides, I won the egg so technically it;s mine.”

“Oh, you always bring that up!” Fiddleford growled. “I know you bought it, but it’s our project!”

Nearby, Stanley put a hand to his mouth to keep from laughing. He took a deep breath and asked, “So, what? Is this like your kid now or somethin’?”

“He’s not our kid,” Stanford crossed. “He’s a carefully controlled experiment.”

Fiddleford finally noticed the camera. “Wait, have you been recordin’ this?”

“What? This? Yeah. Pretty much. You’ll make hilarious parents.”

“Gimme that!” Fiddleford stood up. Stanley, giggling like a mad man, raced away and turned off the camera.

Stanley stood at one corner of the room, camera in his hands. Stanford stood at the nightstand-turned-desk by his bed. Piles of plants such as hay, straw, flowers, leaves, and stems as well as pretty and colorful natural objects scattered on the desk. In front of him was a new wicker basket, this time longer and wider so that it was nearly thrice the size of its original container. The original basket sat a foot or so away from the new one on the desk.

Stanford picked up a piece of straw. He ran his finger of it, tested how well and far it bent before becoming brittle, its texture, how naturally thin or thick it was, and even its smell. Once it passed his little inspection, he wove it into the nest. If it didn’t, it was put in another pile.

Stanley turned the camera so that it looked at him. He whispered in a voice so quiet the camera could hardly detect it from three inches away, “He’s nesting. He’s been at it for hours!” He turned the camera around to face Stanford again.

After going through a few more hay straws, Stanford looked over greener plants and wove those in. Then, he added the pretty objects around the lip of the nest.

The door opened. Fiddleford walked inside. “Stanford! Mrs. Pines is servin’ food.”

“Be there in a minute,” Stanford mumbled and inspected a pretty shell he found by the lake.

Fiddleford put his hands on his hips. “You can finish that after. That’s not goin’ anywhere.”

“I know that.” Stanford gently wove the shell into the nest and picked up a crystal. “I’ll be there, soon. Promise.”

“Do ya even know what time it is?” Fiddleford prompted.

“Uh… twelve somethin’ right?”

“It’s six at night.”

“Six?” Stanford looked back at him. The look of incredulity on his face was priceless. “What do you mean? It can’t have been all day.”

Stanley nodded. “Yes, it could. Now c’mon! Let’s get dinner!” Stanley shifted from foot to foot, causing the camera to shudder a bit.

“Okay, just a minute. Let me finish this.” Stanford went back to his nest. He sighed when Fiddleford put his hand on Stanford’s shoulder. “Fiddleford, let me just finish this.”

“We haven’t seen ya at all today,” Fiddleford pointed out. “Please?”

Stanford sighed and set down the crystal in his hand. “Fine, fine.”

The boys cried out in victory and turned off the camera.

The camera was in Stanley’s hands again. This time, he was closer and Stanford and Fiddleford were well aware of his presence. Stanford looked down at his notes. “By my estimation, this egg should be ready to hatch any hour now.” They’d set a clean cloth over the nest so that the goo from within the egg wouldn’t soak into the hay.

“How do you know that?” Stanley prompted.

“By comparing its rate of growth to other egg-laying creatures on Earth, we can make a safe estimate on its gestation. It still fascinates me that the embryo can remain in a state of suspension for so long before continuing development. Now, the actual factors in hatching are currently unknown,” Stanford explained. “It could take light and noise or dark and quiet. Maybe it needs a special thing beside it.”

“Maybe it needs its mama by it,” Stanley teased.

Stanford nodded. “Yes, yes, that’s possible. I’ve been spending as much time with it as possible. Being near another entity could change how it grows and develops and, finally, what it needs to hatch.”

“Stanford!” Fiddleford gasped. “It’s pippin’!”

“Pipping?” Stanford prompted.

Fiddleford pointed at the egg. “That means it’s _hatchin’!_”

“Really?!” Stanford looked over the baby blue egg. A shudder passed through it. A very tiny crack appeared in one part of the shell. “It’s hatching!” Stanford clamped a hand over his mouth to muffle himself.

Stanley quickly grew bored as, after the initial crack, the egg stopped moving. “What’s it doin’ now?”

Fiddleford piped up, “Restin’. It’s been asleep for years. Imagine sleepin’ all day and then bein’ forced to get out of a locked coffin. Ya can’t do it all in one go. Ya have to wake up a bit first.”

Eventually, the egg shuddered again. The crack spread. More of that end of the egg fractured. They watched in rapt attention as one end of the egg stayed smooth, but the other looked like a stained glass window. Egg shell pieces defected. A bit of weird, pale goo seeped out from the cracks. Finally, after fifteen minutes of squirming and pushing, the little thing made one final push before slipping out of its shell and spilling out onto the cloth.

The little thing stopped moving. It’s bulbous, swishy, gooey body lay in a pile. Six little wormy, pawless stubs spread out over its sides like a roly-poly. Two ossicones stuck flat to its head. Currently, its large eyes were shut. Its mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. Four hooks ringed its lips. Every time it opened its little mouth, they saw a circle of six tiny little teeth.

“Wow,” Stanford breathed. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Whoa… that’s not a natural critter…” Fiddleford breathed.

“What is it?” Stanley asked, baring his teeth. “It’s ugly, that’s for sure.”

Stanford glared back at him and struggled to put down the anger in his voice. “No, he’s not! He’s _beautiful_.” Stanford turned his attention back to the critter. Its body shuddered. The thing opened its giant purple eyes, void of whites or pupils. Stanford turned his attention back on him. “Well, welcome, little guy! What are you, anyway?” The creature sat up so that two sets of legs were pressed to its chest while it’s third set was on the ground. The little thing made a weird noise, like a cross between an old man’s mumble and a baby bird’s chirp. Its giant eyes focused on the pen Stanford held very close to it. Its eyes got wide and then it shrunk and elongated and grew darker until it was a pen.

The three kids stared at it in shocked silence. Stanford grinned and scribbled something down on his paper. “This is amazing! It can change forms at will. I wonder what else it can do. Can it only change into nonliving things or can it become a living creature? This is amazing! I wonder how it’ll grow up or what it’ll look like. Will it have a form or will it constantly change?” Stanford babbled and feverishly wrote down everything he was saying.

“Ford, calm down,” Fiddleford chuckled. “Keep it quiet. You might disturb it.”

“Right, right,” Stanford set down his pen. The shape-shifter turned back into its pale, squishy self. It made another mumble noise and waved its tiny paws. Stanford set down his pad and pen, put on his gloves, and gently picked the thing up. “Oh, wow. You’re not that heavy.”

“We should name it!” Stanley decided.

Fiddleford nodded. “We’ll need to call it somethin’.”

“Shifty!” Stanford decided. The creature made another noise and wriggled in his hands. “Hey! You like that name?”

“Shifty?” Stanley prompted and sighed. “Remind me to never let you get a dog.”

“I like it,” Stanford denied. “Your name is Shifty.” Shifty squeaked again. “This is so amazing! I wonder what you eat.” Shifty clicked the hook things on its mouth like pinchers. “Okay, so, you’re probably hungry, right?” Stanford looked at Fiddleford. “Clear the egg and stuff off the nest… please.”

Fiddleford brushed the eggshell onto the towel and gently lifted it off the nest. “There. We should study this egg and goo.”

Stanford set Shifty down on the nest. “There you go! Do you like the nest?” The shape-shifter’s weight caused the nest to dip a little. Its tiny legs waved uselessly about for a few moments before it dragged itself a few inches or so. It lay down again, tired. “He does! Okay, now, let’s get some food. Let’s start with small, squishy things like worms and maggots. Maybe we could try some insects. Its pinchers look like it can pierce things, so maybe it eats food that normally has an exoskeleton.”

Stanford, now tired from a day of exercise and study, walked into their room. Shifty lay in his arms, peacefully asleep. “I know you couldn’t turn into animals for long,” Stanford breathed and stopped by his nest. “But that’s okay. You’ll learn eventually.” Stanford gently set the baby shape-shifter into its basket. It opened its eyes a little bit and watched as Stanford set his glasses on the table and lay down in his bed. Stanley’s bed was vacant, so far.

Shifty squeaked. It’s voice was currently too quiet to be heard. It squeaked again and crawled to the edge of its nest, toward Stanford. After the third time it failed to get Stanford’s attention by squeaking, it changed strategy. Shifty changed into a small, very young cat. Shifty, wobbly on his feet, climbed out of the nest and hopped onto Stanford’s bed. Once there, it turned back into its natural form and lay down under his blanket.

When Stanford woke up, he felt something squishy and moist under his fingers. He opened his blurry eyes. Under his hand, Shifty was asleep. “Shifty?” he mumbled. “How’d you get out of your nest?” He raised his head. Stanley was still asleep. “Stanley? Did you move Shifty?”

“That’s still a dumb name,” Stanley grumbled back. “But no.”

Stanford looked down at the half-awake critter. “Did you come here by yourself?” Shifty squeaked. “Wow. How did you get over here?” Stanford sat up. Shifty changed into the pale kitten. It hobbled a foot or so on the bed before collapsing and changing back into its natural form. “Fascinating. Wanting to be by me gave you the necessary drive to change into a living form and stay in it for long enough to reach your destination. Come on. Let’s take you downstairs.” Stanford stood up, scooped Shifty into his arms and then set it down in a pocket in his jacket. Shifty squeaked and settled inside of his jacket.

**Author's Note:**

> A totally unnecessary AU where Stanford buys the shapeshifter egg from a witch and he and Fiddleford raise is as their <s>own</s> pet. Stanley's just there to video tape the whole thing.
> 
> Made this in 2017, but I decided to clean it up a little and post it. I really liked the premise! This was actually going to be part of my "Relatively Speaking" fan-novel, but decided against it. I have a few other short stories squirreled away. But for now, enjoy baby Shifty who's raised well and becomes a good alien. <3


End file.
